


The Detective and the Shop Girl (on hold)

by silverxrain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverxrain/pseuds/silverxrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a general consensus among people who know Sherlock Holmes well that he is not very polite to others because he has a history of others not being polite to him.<br/>And the only thing Sherlock wants but doesn't have - more than admiration, is casual friendliness. Not being a pariah among men. Not being treated like a god or monster after revealing his skills. No one has given him that, at least, until John Watson taught him some manners. </p><p>In fact it's thanks to John's influence that Sherlock doesn't drive away Rose Tyler the minute he meets her. She's the first woman to be impressed by him and still retain her dignity. Also, she's the first woman who doesn't seen like an alien creature he would rather avoid.<br/>So maybe, just maybe he and the blonde girl can be friends...</p><p>That is, until she disappears, of course, and even Sherlock Holmes, with his underground network and powerful brother and deductive skills, can never find her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock had nearly blown up the flat, so he decided to be the one to get the milk in the vague hope that it would appease John when he got home.

He dropped the carton on the counter. The shop assistant looked up from her phone. "Sir, you can pay for tha' over there, in the food section. This is the clothes section." She spoke with the heavy Cockney accent of a commoner, probably an illegitimate or fatherless daughter raised in a cheap home, apartment or council estate. Not an apartment, the cheap whitewash used on the wall of council estates had rubbed off on her fingers.

The deductions hadn't even taken up a few seconds and he already knew the type of place she had been raised in and her status in society. He observed these things the way others would observe that she was blonde, and reasonably pretty, though as about in shape as any other Londoner with a diet of chips and pizza.

"But could you just inform me about whether this is the right kind of milk?" he asked, giving her what he hoped was a friendly smile. It worked on other people, though never on John.

"The right kind?" she said blankly. 

"I mean, what type of milk do people normally get?" Sherlock asked desperately. He'd had no idea there were so many types of milk and he'd just grabbed what was closest to him. The last thing he wanted was to have got the wrong sort of milk and the chairs were covered in sap and the carpet had gotten blackened. Oh, it wasn't his fault, his calculations would have been perfect, it had just been Mrs. Hudson distracting him by yelling up up the stairs if he wanted tea yet. John was going to be 47.3 times more angry if he'd already had a bad day at work.  

"Uh, what do you want the milk for?" the girl asked.

Sherlock thought. "Cereal," he said. "And... experiments."

"Well I dunno what kind of milk ya need for experiments but most people don't pour guava-flavoured milk on their cereal, so ya might just wanna get the kind with a blue label on it, the one that says 2%," the girl said, playing with the zipper on her sweatshirt. She doesn't give him a strange look, but what with this being a general store in a scruffier part of London, he supposes she's used to slightly confused customers. 

Sherlock began walking away, stopped, remembered, said, "Thank you," politely, then swept away with his coat, in a dramatic manner that John had found him practicing in front of his mirror once. He hoped the nice blonde girl appreciated it. 


	2. Chapter Two

The next time they met was in the same shop. 

"I remember you," the blonde girl said. "You didn't know what kind o' milk to get. Hope you know what you want this time."

"Actually, no, I was wondering, what time was this cereal delivered?" Sherlock asked, placing a box of Weetabix on the counter. "I assure you, it is of vital importance," he added, as she opened her mouth to tell him that this wasn't the counter for food. "Several lives depend on it. And the happiness of a certain teacup pig." 

She sighed. "You couldn't just ask-"

"They won't answer my questions."

"What makes you think  _I_   will?" 

His eyes ticked right, left, absorbing information. Extra foundation, her clothes, rumpled and careless, writing on her bag has been scribbled over in permanent marker, lots of signs, tiny details...

"Your boyfriend just broke up with you," he said, and when her face crumpled, he realized he was doing that 'a bit not good thing' John had warned him about.

"How'd  _you_  know that?" she demanded angrily. "You one of his mates or something?"


End file.
